Fake News

Graham Brady, chair of the Conservative 1922 Committee, is the only human being who really knows the unique blend of 11 herbs and spices that coats the chicken drumsticks in KFC, it has been revealed today.

The news comes as Tory MP after Tory MP insisted that Brady has a total monopoly over information about who has written a letter signalling no confidence in the prime-minister, despite many such letters being widely available to all and sundry via news channels and social media.

‘The only person who really knows how many letters have been written is Graham Brady’, parrotted numerous Tory MPs today, imbuing a safe in Brady’s office where the letters of no confidence are kept with an importance on a par with the Egyptian pyramids as a means of understanding human civilisation.

Brady’s Altringham and Sale West constituency office is also thought to contain documents which reveal the identify of the killer of JFK on the grassy knoll, the formula of Coca Cola syrup, whether Tony Soprano actually died in the final episode of the popular TV series, and the precise location of the G-spot within the vagina.

Brady was unavailable for comment today, and was said to be busy investigating evidence that had been brought to his attention about a territory believed to be as large as Libya and Asia combined and gold worth the weight of all of Greece, which is thought to have perished under water in the Atlantic ocean after being punished by Poseidon, the God of water and earth.

‘The dart narrowly missed me,’ said champion farter Dave Smythe, talking about his expulsion from The UK national farting competition finals. If you slow down the action you can see it whistling past my ear. Of course, spectators couldn’t hear that whistling as it was drowned out by my speciality ‘dry trouser cough’, which I have developed to deliver volume and olfactory impact. But my equilibrium was ruined and I couldn’t help ‘following through’, which means automatic expulsion under new NF league rules.’

Time was when the follow-through didn’t mean an early bath in competitive farts, and the classic finish was a number one then a double two. But once the sport became popular on TV, the time it took for a wet wipe and a change of trousers, however efficiently this could be performed by specially trained ‘pit stop’ crew, slowed down the action, so a ‘one shite and your out’ rule came into play. This led to the famed hard boiled egg diet for contestants, which served as a colon-blocking defense against fouling, while at the same time increasing the sulphuric impact on the judges’ noses.

Now NF league officials are investigating how a weapon could have been smuggled in to the flatulence arena. Official Jemima Smith explained that both spectators and participants are thoroughly searched, although security operatives are warned to ‘pat down’ competitors as gently as possible, to avoid premature release.

‘The dart narrowly missed me,’ said champion farter Dave Smythe, talking about his expulsion from The UK national farting competition finals. If you slow down the action you can see it whistling past my ear. Of course, spectators couldn’t hear that whistling as it was drowned out by my speciality ‘dry trouser cough’, which I have developed to deliver volume and olfactory impact. But my equilibrium was ruined and I couldn’t help ‘following through’, which means automatic expulsion under new NF league rules.’

Time was when the follow-through didn’t mean an early bath in competitive farts, and the classic finish was a number one then a double two. But once the sport became popular on TV, the time it took for a wet wipe and a change of trousers, however efficiently this could be performed by specially trained ‘pit stop’ crew, slowed down the action, so a ‘one shite and your out’ rule came into play. This led to the famed hard boiled egg diet for contestants, which served as a colon-blocking defense against fouling, while at the same time increasing the sulphuric impact on the judges’ noses.

Now NF league officials are investigating how a weapon could have been smuggled in to the flatulence arena. Official Jemima Smith explained that both spectators and participants are thoroughly searched, although security operatives are warned to ‘pat down’ competitors as gently as possible, to avoid premature release.

In a shock development in the on-going poltical rancour over Britainâs departure from the European Union, Brexit itself has now gained consciousness and has begun rampaging through areas that voted Remain, destroying branches of Pret-a Manger, Benneton and Caffe Nero.

Previously a mere political concept concerning the United Kingdomâs exit from the EU, Brexit this weekend morphed into a living breathing monster, intent on destroying anything that irritates it, which seems to include anything vaguely âun-Britishâ, inclusive or slightly modern. A row of LGBTQ+ flags were ripped to pieces in Londonâs Old Compton Street, as Brexit went on to smash up any prominent no-smoking signs, some gender neutral toilets and a Remembrance Day exhibition about non-white people who had fought in the war.

Brexit has taken the form of a giant British bulldog, and was last seen terrorising members of the liberal elite, driving them from their homes, digging up landscaped gardens and overturning expensive German cars. Â Large parts of Hampstead, Islington and Clapham were reported to be in ruins, with angry residents saying âIt was a bit muchâ and ânot on at all.â Â One alarmed Remainer tried to take refuge in her garden yurt, normally used for hosting pilates and yoga workshops, but Brexit ripped the entire structure to shreds, and then urinated on her aromatherapy herb garden.

Attempts to pacify the monster by throwing it large pieces of gammon have come to nothing, and now it is said to be heading to Westminster, where fears are that the Brexit monster might destroy the British government and economy, as ministers abandon their posts and investors flee the country.

David Cameron was said to be oblivious to the monsterâs existence, and was still cheerfully posting selfies from his rustic garden shed.

The anonymous art lover who bought David Hockney’s painting “Pool with Two Figures” for a record price at Christie’s New York was “probably not a fellow Yorkshireman”, say experts in regional stereotyping.

It’s thought at least one Yorkshireman did attend the sale in solidarity with the Bradford-born painter, but was put off when he was asked to pay three dollars for the auction programme, exclaiming “What, even if ah don’t buy owt?”

The incident coincides with several reviews on Tripadvisor complaining that various restaurants in central Manhattan are “far too dear”, serve “nowt but foreign muck”, “can’t make a proper cup of tea” and above all are “not in Yorkshire”, though at one point he does express satisfaction he was able to find “a traditional British curry”.

The anonymous reviewer went on to explain he was only there because a travel agent misheard him when he asked for a train ticket to York. On realising he he’d been given a plane ticket to New York and couldn’t get a refund, he couldn’t face the idea of wasting the money and decided against his better instincts to make the journey. However, the trip has only reinforced his determination, dating back to a reluctant visit to “that London” many years ago, to stay within “God’s own county” from now on.

For many years men have struggled buying clothes that are not a suit or a pair of jeans, but finally we have made some progress. Â A team of scientists gathered from Oxford, Cambridge and John Lewis are said to be near to a clear definition of ‘smart casual’ – somewhereÂ equidistant between bland and gimp.

Said one customer: ‘I just want something that says fun, breezy – capable of attending a swingers a party but not afraid to put his socks inÂ alphabetical order. Â The kind of guy who undoes his top button, but knows his way around a spreadsheet or double moka’.

Following the resignations of several pro-Leave government ministers as the Government’s Brexit plans head for a meltdown, Environment Secretary Michael Gove has decided to remain in the cabinet to âwave his willyâ.

It was Goveâs wife, the Daily Mail columnist Sarah Vine, who had said on the BBC’s Marr programme that male cabinet members should stop shouting, screaming and âwaving their willies aroundâ as Theresa May tries to secure a Brexit deal.

An anonymous source close to Michael Gove said, âHe came home all hot and bothered, wondering what he should do. He said the biggest willy-waver in the cabinet, Dominic Raab had resigned along with Esther McVey, who was quite happy to encourage other cabinet members to do a spot of âwavingâ when she wasn’t misleading parliament or inflicting hardship on people on low incomesâ.

It seems that Ms Vine quoted Margaret Thatcher to her husband. Thatcher had famously said that “every prime minister needs a Willie”, and it was at this point, and after seriously considering his chances of taking over the Prime Ministerâs job, that Michael decided he must stay on to ensure that Theresa May would have the willy she needed. It would be his duty to wave his around willy-nilly in a supportive, but at the same time in a backstabbing kind of way.

It has been reported that several previous cabinet members were well-practised willy-wavers. David Davis, wasn’t really a waver, but he was just too bone idle to put his willy away; Damien Green preferred to wave his at a computer screen, and Boris Johnson waved his about so much that he was required by the Cabinet Secretary, on more than one occasion, to have a private consultation with Dr Liam Fox about the dangers of STD transmission.

Asked what she thought about her husbandâs decision in light of her objections to willy-waving, Ms Vine stated: âTo be quite honest, I donât really care what Michael gets up to a work, as long as he doesnât wave his around at home in front of the Romanian cleaner; they are so hard to replace these daysâ.

Following the resignations of several pro-Leave government ministers as the Government’s Brexit plans head for a meltdown, Environment Secretary Michael Gove has decided to remain in the cabinet to âwave his willyâ.

It was Goveâs wife, the Daily Mail columnist Sarah Vine, who had said on the BBC’s Marr programme that male cabinet members should stop shouting, screaming and âwaving their willies aroundâ as Theresa May tries to secure a Brexit deal.

An anonymous source close to Michael Gove said, âHe came home all hot and bothered, wondering what he should do. He said the biggest willy-waver in the cabinet, Dominic Raab had resigned along with Esther McVey, who was quite happy to encourage other cabinet members to do a spot of âwavingâ when she wasn’t misleading parliament or inflicting hardship on people on low incomesâ.

It seems that Ms Vine quoted Margaret Thatcher to her husband. Thatcher had famously said that “every prime minister needs a Willie”, and it was at this point, and after seriously considering his chances of taking over the Prime Ministerâs job, that Michael decided he must stay on to ensure that Theresa May would have the willy she needed. It would be his duty to wave his around willy-nilly in a supportive, but at the same time in a backstabbing kind of way.

It has been reported that several previous cabinet members were well-practised willy-wavers. David Davis, wasn’t really a waver, but he was just too bone idle to put his willy away; Damien Green preferred to wave his at a computer screen, and Boris Johnson waved his about so much that he was required by the Cabinet Secretary, on more than one occasion, to have a private consultation with Dr Liam Fox about the dangers of STD transmission.

Asked what she thought about her husbandâs decision in light of her objections to willy-waving, Ms Vine stated: âTo be quite honest, I donât really care what Michael gets up to a work, as long as he doesnât wave his around at home in front of the Romanian cleaner; they are so hard to replace these daysâ.

Victims of the war in Yemen have taken time out from being bombed by Saudi-led coalition forces to roundly condemn the raincoat worn by Jeremy Corbyn at the Remembrance Day service held at the Cenotaph last Sunday.
Yemenis on both sides of the conflict agreed the coat worn by the Labour leader was totally inappropriate for the occasion and showed a complete lack of style and fashion sense.
One badly wounded Yemeni man hiding under a sheet of corrugated iron said he thought the Labour leader should have gone with something more flattering, arguing that a knee length cashmere overcoat would have looked nicer than a hooded raincoat.
‘Nothing shows how much you care about those who have died on the battlefield more than an expensive overcoat’. said the dying man.

Yemeni schoolchildren were particularly scathing in their condemnation of the Labour leader. âThere are plenty of quality cashmere coats out there to choose fromâ,Â said 9 year old Youssan Habbdi.Â âThere was absolutely no need to wear a raincoat. Judging from the close up footage of Mr.Corbyn’s poppy shown by the BBC, the showers were light and did not necessitate a raincoat. In fact, a single breasted Italian coat with a wool/cashmere combination would have protected Corbyn from the cold November wind far more effectively than a raincoat.’
‘Mr.Corbyn was surrounded by much smarter looking people with much bigger poppies’, continued little Youssan.Â ‘They may have been arms dealers and war mongers but you couldn’tÂ fault their choice of overcoat or poppy. Itâs OK for Mr.Corbyn to condemn war but if he wants to be taken seriously he needs to ditch the raincoatâ.

But one Yemeni mother, nursing her dead 3 year old baby defended the raincoat saying it âlooked sensibleâ and if given the choice of a funeral shroud made from a raincoat or cashmere overcoat she would go with the raincoat every time.

A dad has dismissed sell-by dates as ‘superstitious nonsense’ after buying his family’s entire weekly shop from the reduced aisle at his local supermarket.

‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with luncheon meat, macaroni cheese and pineapple chunks that are a day or two past their so-called sell-by date’,Â insisted Nev Burke, a 43 year-old welder from Hull.

‘Believing in sell-by dates is as irrational as carrying a rabbit’s foot, not walking under a ladder or making travel arrangements using a Southern Rail timetable’Â, continued Burke.

Mr Burke did admit, however, that there are some dangers involved with purchasing cut-price groceries. ‘There’s only one scientifically proven health risk associated with buying food from the reduced aisle; getting a life-threatening injury from another bargain hunter’, he noted. Â

‘Unfortunately, these days, prices aren’t the only things getting slashed’, explained the father of two. ‘Basically, thriftiness has become a vicious, cruel blood sport. It’s my generation’s Tinder.;Â

‘It’s only a matter of time before the ‘unexpected item in the bagging area’Â is someone’s vital organsÂ he added.

Scientists have agreed to change the definition of 1000 grams to mean something that is simply âa bit chunkyâ. The fluctuation of the original platinum-based ingot is about 50 parts in a billion, whereas the Greggâs Pasty has remained stoically the same, retaining the exact same dimensions even after consumption and for the next four weeks that it spends in your lower colon.

âLe Grand Kâ has been locked in a Parisian safe since 1889, while your average pasty has remained on the shelf since 18:30 the previous day. Some speculate that a Greggâs Pasty may outlast British civilization which, thanks to Brexit, is only six months away.

The humble pasty is made from Lard; which in the periodic table appears as LrD – being heavier than Uranium and twice as deadly. Cornish scientists in the early part of the nineteenth century combined LrD with âmystery meatâ to create the first pasty; thus starting an international nuclear pastry-race that would eventually result in tragic cholesterol rates for the people of Japan.

Traditionally we associate the kilogram with a bag of sugar or – if you are from the Home Counties â your monthly cocaine supply. Instead, we will now think in terms of one greasy lump of congealed fat or âBoris Johnsonâ to his friends.